


Into My Bloodstream

by Casspiration



Series: Werewolf!Stiles verse [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Peter Hale, Human Scott McCall, Hunters Kill Laura, M/M, Pack Dynamics, Teen Wolf Reverse Bang, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-24 12:40:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4919950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Casspiration/pseuds/Casspiration
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is bitten instead of Scott...and takes a very different turn in accepting the bite.  But the plan wasn't to fall in love with Peter, who also happened to be a mass murderer.  And now, Stiles may have blood of his own on his hands.  With the hunters closing in on Peter, he has to choose between his pack and his friends.</p><p>8tracks playlist: http://8tracks.com/casspiration/into-my-bloodstream</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kill of the Night

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I kinda portrayed Peter a little differently than the show did in this fic. I feel like they took a really awesome character, developed him, and then destroyed his plot in season four. In this, he's a tiny bit more sympathetic, and a little less crazy (I said a little).

Listen to the 8tracks for this fic: <http://8tracks.com/casspiration/into-my-bloodstream>

 

Scott and Stiles were searching for the body in the dark, with only the lights of their phones when they caught sight of the sheriff.

"You go talk to him, he'd be less angry at you! There's no way we're out running him!" Stiles panicked, pushing Scott forward before he could complaining, causing his friend to stumble right into his father's path.

Sheriff Stilinski looked at the boy for a few moments before shaking his head.

"So Stiles has been listening to my radio again?" He asked, exasperated. "This is a crime scene, and it's dangerous. You'll be lucky if your mother doesn't hear about this," he said sternly, looking around as if to find Stiles who was 'hiding' behind a tree.

"Ah- well- it's ah- just me s-sir," Scott stuttered and Stiles face palmed in his hiding place; he should have known he couldn't trust Scott to lie without messing it up. "Stiles told me about uh, what he heard...and uh...I was just curious," Scott finished, not even meeting the Sheriff's eyes.

"Did he mention there was a _body_? And where there's a body, there's usually someone- well _something_ \- that put the body there. I'm sure he informed you we’d only found _half_?" The Sheriff said, and Scott froze in his spot. _We shouldn't have come here,_ Stiles thought to himself, tuning out the rest of his father admonishing Scott. Soon, he heard his father and Scott walk off, and he assumed his friend was getting an escort home. _He's lucky his mom is working he night shift._

Now, the silence set in, and without Scott's panting as he struggled to keep up, Stiles realized how quiet the forest was. Goosebumps spread across his skin, and he almost wished he had just gone with his father when they had seen him, and now...there was no one in sight.

Stiles took a few tentative steps forward, wincing at the crack of leaves under his feet. A breeze blew, tugging at his flannel and sending chills down his spine.

"Which way did we come from?" He muttered to himself, looking around, but everywhere looked like woods. "Great, just great," he sighed, feeling slight panic setting in.

_If I have a panic attack now, I'm screwed,_ he thought...well more so panicked, to himself, standing stock-still.

A crack of a stick drew his attention, and he father's words ran through his head; _where there's a body, there's usually someone- well something- that put the body there._

He could feel his heart rate increase as he tried to take careful steps forward. He was not about to become kibble for some rabid animal. He tried to think about the show he'd once seen on animal planet where the hikers had been mauled by bears.

"Oh joy, great job Stiles," he panicked quietly to himself, "now you're going to become dinner to a fanged beast."

A few more moments of silence.

"Not quite."

The voice came out of nowhere, and before Stiles could even open his mouth to respond, his feet were coming out from beneath him and he was flying to the ground with crack. His head slammed into the ground and for a few moments he was dazed, looking around the darkness for his attacker.

He tried to scramble away, but a hand wrapped around his ankle, pulling him back down onto his face. He pulled at tree branches, trying to haul himself away, feeling the body looming over his. All he could hear was his blood rushing in his ears until his own pain laced scream broke through the night.

A pain like he'd never felt before spread quickly across his side, right above his hip, where his shirt had ridden up. He struggled to escape his attackers grip, feeling their weight holding him there. Panic began to spread through his body and his ears rang, and his vision blurred. His heart was pounding out of his chest, and his breath was ragged; a cross between pained whines, and panting.

Something had just bit him.

"Sh, it's alright," a far from comforting voice whispered, and he felt the weight shift, and his body was flipped over. A man was looming over him, but all he could make out in the dark were two bright red lights...right where his eyes should have been. He wriggled, but his wrists were still pinned. His side burned, and he could feel his warm blood dripping down his skin and painting the leaves below crimson. "It will heal."

The voice was smooth, yet gruff, very human, yet the thing leering over him was far from that.

"Wh-who..." Stiles stuttered out, unable to form the rest of the sentence, his vision going black.

"Your alpha," the man-thing smiled, and Stiles swore he saw a flash of white fangs right before his head lolled to the side and he passed out.

~*~

Stiles woke on a couch, the surrounding air smelling much of rot and ash. It was damp, and he could hear a drip of water. He looked around, and realized the walls were charred, the house a ghost of what it once must have been- just a burnt out shell, standing on almost nothing.

He tried to stand, but he felt dizzy, and staggered, catching himself on a wall nearby. He could hear a rat scuttling around somewhere, and footsteps, approaching slowly...and...what sounded like a heartbeat, but it wasn't his own. It was beating steadily, a thrum that rang through Stiles' head.

"Ah, so I see you've awakened," he reeled around, not so gracefully and was met with _blue eyes_. The man's face was horribly scarred, and part of his hair had been burnt away, scarred scalp remaining. It was a stifling sight, especially in the middle of a burnt house.

"Where am I?" Stiles demanded, trying not to seem intimidated despite taking a step back from the man, "who are you?" He asked, after a few moment of silence. " _Your alpha._ " Rang through his head, but he ignored it, strengthening his gaze.

"Well, _Stiles_ , I am a man of strength, kind enough to grant you a very special gift," the man began, and Stile's breath froze.

"How do you know my name!? Are you some kind of mind reader?" He exclaimed, then going back to glaring.

"No, I read your driver's license," the man said, no amusement in his tone. He tossed Stiles' wallet into the air, and he was surprised when he caught it with ease, tucking it back into his back pocket. The motion pulled at his side, and suddenly, some of the pain was rushing back and he felt light headed.

He staggered on his feet, losing his balance and falling to the side. Right before he hit the ground, a strong pair of arms wrapped around him, pulling him back up as if it were effortless.

He could _smell_ the scents wafting off the man, which was odd. He smelled damp and musky, like leaves and dirt, and a hint of soot. And also, _blood. His blood_ , and suddenly, Stiles wondered; why the hell wasn’t he running?

But the man was blocking his exit, and he was too afraid to try to run past him.

"You bit me!" Stiles exclaimed, breaking the silence.

"I did," the man nodded, and Stiles felt the color drain from his cheeks, and his heartrate begin to pick up again. But now, he could hear it loud and clear.

"Why am I here? I need to leave, my father will realize I am not home and freak out. I mean, something's running around killing people," Stiles panicked, his words coming out fast and slurred, but then he stopped, and his blood ran cold, realization pouring through him. This was the killer. He was standing in front of a man who cut a girl in half. Okay, now he was sure he was going to die. He was going to be killed be a serial killer, and left to rot, and then his father wouldn't have anyone- and oh _god! His father-_

He was surprised when a hand rested on the nape of his neck, and he felt all his feelings come to a halt.

"You reek of fear," the man said, and Stiles wanted to snap " _yeah I'm afraid I'm currently trapped by a murderer_ " but he couldn't bring himself do. His pulse was slowing down, and the contact was almost comforting. "You can already feel it I see. The pack bond."

"The pack what?" Stiles spat as the man removed his hand.

"Stiles, I am not human," the man said with coy smile. Stiles opened his mouth to retort "yeah you're a murderer" but then the man's blue eyes flashed a brilliant red and his grin contained a few too many fangs for Stiles' liking. He reeled away instantly, tripping over something on the ground and falling with a shrill cry, feeling the pain rip at his injured side.

He tried to scramble away, but he was backed against the wall. The man's red eyed stare met his, and felt something course through him. This urge to follow the man; like a connection- a pull and he fought it, moving farther away.

"Don't fight it Stiles, I'm you're alpha now, I'm the one who bit you," he said, and Stiles froze.

"What are you?" He asked, watching as the man smiled a fanged grin, his eyes burning a deep crimson red, reminding Stiles of the color of _blood._

"A werewolf," he said his tone silky and smooth. Any other day, Stiles would've laughed in the man's face, called him crazy and told him to screw, but the fangs were pretty convincing he had to admit.

"I'm Peter," he said, offering Stiles' a hand up. He looked at him hesitantly then looking back up at Peter's eyes which had flashed back blue, "I don't bite...well that may be the wrong use of a joke, wouldn’t it," he chuckled, the same grin pulled across his face and Stiles tentatively accepted his hand, noting how he was pulled to his feet easily. He noticed the worst of his pain disappeared at the touch, and he swore he saw black veins flash across Peter's skin.

"You're probably wondering why we are here," Peter began, and Stiles stared and said nothing, "well, this _was_ my home. The Hale house to be exact," he said, probably noticing the realization that came over Stiles' face.

The Hale's house had burned down, killing almost everyone except two of the children and one of the adults, but he was in...critical condition. He remembered when his father had gotten the call, eleven corpses and one injured. It was one of the worst cases in all his father's career and he had only been a deputy then.

"So you know?" Peter asked, Stiles gave a stiff nod.

"You were in critical care, burns all down your body," Stiles said, his voice calmer. He looked at the burns down the side of Peter's face that disappeared beneath his shirt.

"Yes. And according to medical records, I still am," he said, his gaze meeting Stiles'. It was cold and hard, "I am healing slowly, cell by cell. I was stuck in a coma for six years, trapped in my mind. Do you know what that's like?" His voice began to raise in volume. "And I wake up, just to find most of my family dead, and my only surviving niece severed in half by a hunter. The same hunter who killed my family," he ground out, his eyes flashing red again. "I watched my children, my wife, my sister, all burn alive!" His gaze broke away, focusing on the ground, "The hunters stole them from me, and you're going to help me get revenge," he growled out. Stiles flinched at the sound that came out of Peter's mouth which was almost animalistic.

"Werewolf...hunters?" He trailed, and Peter nodded. Stiles gulped, _well it's reassuring he didn't kill anyone...yet._

"We are running short on time, but you have turned and I can't have you ripping innocent people apart, yet," he said with a grin and Stiles froze. A werewolf bit him, and that could only mean one thing.

"You...made me one of you?" He gasped, the panic gripping him for what felt like the hundredth time.

"Yes, I turned you. You are a beta, my beta, and I am your alpha. Don't worry, if you accidentally bite anyone they won't turn, only I can do that, but you'll be better off not bringing attention to yourself," Peter explained, looking at Stiles as if he was ready for a panic attack, but nothing happened. "Your senses are heightened, your smell, hearing, all enhanced. You can hear things no normal human can hear, and smell things as well. And you are stronger. You will soon learn how to use these skill to your advantage, but that is in due time. For now, I need to get back to the hospital before my nurse realizes I'm missing, and you need to scamper home before father dearest gets too worried, and remember, stay calm," he said, and that was it. It was as if he had blinked and Peter was gone, his scent lingering in the air.

Stiles hesitantly exited the burnt house, the forest hitting him like a wall. He could hear every little creature down to the flies buzzing by his head clearly. The scents were so mingled and all he could pick out was dirt, and the damp smell everything gets after it rains.

He took a deep breath, stretching his sore muscles, trying to ignore the now full ache in his side where Peter had bit him. The idea still all made his head spin, and he was unable to grasp it, finding himself wondering when he was going to wake up.

He took his first step and then he was off racing, running faster than he ever had in his life, watching the trees pass him in a blur, forgetting almost instantly of all of the pain. He breathed in the fresh air, his body feeling tireless and free as he raced along, reaching the edge of the preserve where his jeep was parked in no time. He looked up at the sky and realized the sun was just rising, and he still had time before his father was home.

He may have broken a few speed limits in his attempt to reach home, but when he finally got there his father's cruiser was not yet in the driveway.

He went inside, rushing up the stairs, feeling his side barely even hurt at all the movement. When he reached the bathroom and looked in the mirror, he realized how much of a wreck he looked like. He had a fading bruise under his eyes that was barely even tender under his touch, and there was blood all over his shirt and pants. Luckily Peter hadn't ripped any of his clothes, and he was able to wash the worst of the damage off in the sink before throwing them into the wash. He then stepped into the shower, letting the warm water wash away all of the dirt and blood from his skin.

The warm water trickled over his tense muscles, and he felt relief almost instantly as the layer of grime was washed from his skin. His hand traveled down his side, tentatively brushing over the mark on his side. It was clearly a bite mark from teeth that didn't belong to a human. But surprisingly, it was just a scab now, completely closed.

He still wrapped it just to be careful, not believing the supernatural healing speed, as if it was some trick his mind was playing on him.

By the time he got out of the shower, his father had come home and climbed into bed, tired from his late shift. Not feeling even a slight bit shower, Stiles crept downstairs.

4:56 the clock read in blinking letters and Stiles sighed, sitting down with his head in his hands. He could hear the tick of the clock every time the minute hand moved along its way. He could hear his father snoring, he could smell the sweat and gun powder residue of his uniform which he always draped over his desk chair. It obviously needed to be washed.

Without thinking, Stiles did a load of laundry mindlessly, flinching at the loud bang the dryer made when it turned on (which wasn't so loud to anyone with a normal sense of hearing). It was as if to cope, his mind had completely turned off every emotion and when he walked back into father's room, he was awake.

Stiles draped the now-clean uniform over his chair, watching his father's eyes stare him down.

"So were you aware your friend was running around a crime scene- did you do my laundry?" He cuts off his accusation to stare at the now clean clothes along with his uniform.

"I couldn't sleep," Stiles muttered, "Dead body and all," he said, which was half the truth. He swore he heard his own heart skip a beat when he said it.

His father didn't say anything, didn't even bring up Scott again, instead thanked him quietly with a sympathetic smile and told him to get ready for school. His lack of sleep of course, wasn't a valid excuse to skip.

Of course, it was hell. Everything was so loud, and the first bell almost brought him to tears, the shrill sound ringing through his head. He could hear every conversation, hear every pencil scrape the paper, each tap of a finger. He was ready to scream by the time the day ended.

As he promised Scott, they met just outside the locker room.

"You okay? You seem off today,” Scott said. They had yet to discuss last night, and Stiles wasn't even sure if he would be able to formulate words on what happened. He was still in denial.

"What? I'm great!" He lied, his heart skipping a beat, "best day ever..." Stiles looked to the side to see Danny, Jackson, and few of the other lacrosse stars approaching. "Best day since the birth of Danny Māhealani...hi Danny," Stiles waved awkwardly, but the boy didn't seem to notice him, like usual. "You look like...you're gonna ignore me..." He trailed, and Scott laughed. Despite the failure, he still smiled, the smallest smile since last night, and it was almost a relief. It was as if all his emotions came crashing back at once and he was pulled out of his funk.

He was almost semi-confident about the beating he was about to get on the field.

He was surprised when he caught the ball with ease, just like his wallet. He remembered what Peter said. _Heightened senses._ He even scored a few goals, but his fear of someone miraculously discovering him was enough to restrain him for the most part.

"Do a little better and you'd make first line Bilinski," Coach had said, slapping his back as he left the field. It was a small ego booster, at least Coach _kinda-sorta_ knew his name. He'd take it as a win.

"You did great!" Scott exclaimed as soon as they were in the locker room, "You were fast too, Stiles, when did you get so good?!" Scott exclaimed happily, but Stiles didn't miss the stink eyes Jackson was currently giving him.

"Uh practice," he said, realizing how shaky his voice was when he spoke. Scott nodded, not noticing Stiles' glance was no longer on him, but Jackson.

"Well, see you tomorrow, I gotta get home in time to see my mom, she's working another double shift," Scott, and Stiles faked a happy "yeah buddy!" In return, and then he was alone, the sound of the dripping showers reaching his sensitive ears.

He flinched when Jackson punched the locker next to his, the sound reverberating through his head.

"Don't think I didn't notice your little stunt out there," Jackson hissed, and Stiles flinched back. Unfamiliar smells wafted off him and Stiles flinched away at the strong smell of emotions. It was overwhelming his senses and it felt like his brain was spinning in his skull. "Where are you getting your juice?" Jackson demanded, and Stiles looked up at him in disbelief. _Steroids? Really Jackson? Do you really believe it's impossible for someone to be better than you?_

"My dad does all the grocery shopping," Stiles snapped back, and Jackson rolled his eyes.

"I will find out your little secret Stilinski, believe me," Jackson spat and Stiles felt his heartbeat speed up. He had to repeat over and over that there was no way Jackson would know. He wouldn't find out either. But it didn't stop the panic. Stiles grabbed his bags and stumbled out of the locker room. He felt an odd tug at his gums, and he realized his teeth were elongating into fangs. He held up his phone, catching the reflection of yellow eyes flashing back at him.

He didn't know what to do, and he panicked more, rushing to his jeep, and jumping inside before anyone could catch him making a scene. He leaned his head against the steering wheel, feeling his breath speeding up to an unsteady pant. He could feel his teeth brushing his lip, and he knew they hadn't gone away.

He focused on his breathing, his entire body feeling numb with shock. Without thinking, he lifted his shirt slightly and he dug his fingers into the bite wound, surprised to discover long claws had replaced his regular nails, and they easily broke the skin.

The pain brought him back to, and he watched the wound ooze blood as it stitched back together, like magic. But it wasn't magic, he was a werewolf, and he needed more answers.

Without thinking, he drove himself to the only care center in all of Beacon Hills. He had to be here, Stiles was sure.

He parked his jeep outside, approaching the building slowly. He was met with stale air and the strong smell go medicine and the rot of sickness. He almost recoiled at the stench, but forced himself to go to the front desk.

The woman looked up at him after a few moments, a bored look on her face.

"Um is Peter Hale here?" He asked, and the woman stared at him for a few moments before typing something on her computer.

"What is your relation to Mr. Hale?" She asked, and Stiles swallowed the lump in his throat.

"Family friend," he croaked out, and the woman rolled her eyes.

"We get people like you all the time in here, so eager to see the burnt survivor of a fire. In all the six years he has been here, I haven't once seen you. Get lost, only family can see him," she said harshly, turning her eyes down again, obviously ready to dismiss any form of argument.

Stiles shrunk away, his confidence crumbled. He needed to know how to control it before something bad happened. Every free chance he had gotten he had spent researching, and nothing had been very pretty. He was dangerous now. And desperate.

When the lady at the desk had her head down, Stiles snuck past a nurse who was oblivious to the fact he had been rejected entrance.

"Here goes nothing," he muttered, breathing in air around him, searching for the familiar scent. He was met with the perfume and aftershave of nurses, stale soap, sickness, and just a hint of sticks and mud buried deep within. With a small smile, he followed the scent down the hall until he came to the door where it was the strongest.

A nurse was leaving the room, and as she closed the door, Stiles slipped in. Seeing Peter sitting in the chair, motionless and his eyes unfocused was like a punch to the gut. Six years. How could someone do that to even a monster? Did anyone but the worst of people deserve a punishment like that. Stiles felt a tug at his heart as he sat at the edge of his bed, his eyes meeting Peter's blank ones.

"I need help. I...I wolfed out today..can I call it that? Wolfing out,” Stiles huffed a laugh, “Makes sense, but I don't know how to control it," Stiles began and was met with silence, "You did this to me," his voice raised just slightly, "And I need your help," he finished.

Peter's nurse heard from outside, and was ready to kick Stiles out when she saw Peter's finger raise just slightly, and Stiles place his hand over Peter's adjacent one.

"I need answers," Stiles said, but he was distracted by the energy buzzing around them, like them being in the same room made him more powerful. He remembered Peter mentioning pack bonds, and wondered just how strong they were.

Stiles stood, his hand resting on Peter's shoulder for only a moment before he was gone, walking out of the door.

The lady at the desk watched him go with a frown, and Stiles heard Peter’s nurse whisper, "if he comes back for Peter...let him in."

Stiles cracked a small smile, even if he didn't want to admit it. At least something was going his way.

~*~

"So guess what!" Scott exclaimed over the phone, and Stiles had to move it away from his face because the voice was so overwhelmingly loud.

"What? What's the yelling for?" Stiles asked, and he could practically feel Scott roll his eyes.

"This cute girl Allison who I met the first day in class hit a dog-" he began and Stiles huffed out a breath.

"How could this possibly end well?" He sighed, flinching at how he could hear Scott tapping his fingers against his sheets on the other end of the line.

"If you would let me finish, you would know I somehow worked up the confidence to ask her to go to Lydia's party with me," Scott blurted quickly, and Stiles smiled for his friend. _If only it could be that simple for me right now._

"That's great man! Can we talk in the morning? I'm bummed," Stiles lied. He felt like crawling out of his skin, and he was pacing up and down his room. He just needed to focus before he completely lost it.

"Okay, night Stiles," Scott said, and Stiles responded a curt "see ya" and even accompanied a yawn to make it just a little more convincing.

He couldn't help but let out a little scream when he turned and Peter was standing right there.

"I was beginning to think I'd imagined it," he groaned, throwing his phone onto his bed. After seeing Peter like that in the care center, he had had a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that this was all some sick sort of hallucination.

"Nope, completely real," Peter said, taking a seat at Stiles desk chair, staring at Stiles expectantly as if waiting for him to say something. "You're taking this...'well' as one could say," he spoke finally.

"How is someone supposed to react when they're bit in the middle of the night by a person who claims to be not only a werewolf, but has and _still_ been in a coma for the past six years," he retorted and Peter shrugs.

"Point taken. I'm assuming you want answers?" Peter said smoothly, "since you begged for them earlier," he added, a glint of mischief in his pale blue eyes, and they flashed red for just a moment Stiles swore if he had blinked, he would have missed it.

"I need control over whatever this is," Stiles began, "I want to be able to control it like you," he finished.

Peter was silent for a moment, before standing and taking one stride towards Stiles, taking his hand. Peter's scarred skin was rough against his, and Stiles could feel sparks of power at the touch, like he had been shocked by electricity.

"Imagine your fingernails shifting into claws. Picture it in your head, feel them extending," he began, and Stiles shut his eyes, remembering the yellow-brown claws that he had seen earlier, and imagined them on his own hand. When he opened his eyes...nothing. "Try harder," Peter demanded, but it came out more like a growl that caused Stiles to want to cower away, but Peter's grip prevented him from going anywhere.

He took a deep breath, channeling all of his energy into the simple task, feeling an odd feeling as his fingernails slowly elongated, like a pressure under his skin, itching to be released. It scratched at the surface and Stiles tried to swallow it down, but it was becoming progressively harder.

"Feel the shift take your body, but control it. Now your fangs, feel them grow," Peter commanded and Stiles could feel the sharp teeth prick his lips. His body was begging for him to stop fighting it, to allow the animal side to take over. A whine escaped his lips, and he looked up at Peter, waiting as the man took his time, probably taking some satisfaction from Stiles' suffering.

"I c-can't," he breathed out, his voice practically just a pant. He could feel a growl rumbling in his throat, and his hands were shaking in Peter's grip.

"Feel it take over your body, but don't lose control," Peter repeated, his eyes meeting Stiles' as a dark crimson red. Sharp nails were digging into his wrists and he watched as Peter controlled his shift easily, trying to follow his lead.

With a gasp, he let all of the power flow through his veins, finally letting it come to the surface. He gasped at the surge of power, pulling away from Peter and bracing himself on his dresser, his eyes meeting his own in the mirror. They were no longer there normal dark brown, but an electric gold. His teeth flashed with each pant, and hair had grown across his face; _like side burns_ , he decided pointedly, straightening out.

"Good, you're in control," Peter smiled, "Now to keep this control, you will need an anchor, something that keeps you attached to humanity. Now mine is my want for revenge, but it can be anything," he explained, watching as Stiles internally struggled with himself despite keeping control.

He thought about his friends, about Scott and the new girl Allison, he thought about Danny, even Jackson, all of the people he would hurt if he lost control. With a gasp, it felt as though a pressure was lifted from his shoulders and he took a shaky breath, feeling himself shift back to human form.

"Good, good," Peter said, "Now again."

~*~

By morning, Stiles had been exhausted but in much better control. Now his only worry as Peter pointed out was the approaching full moon. Apparently all new wolves have difficult dealing with their first full moon, even born wolves like Peter as Stiles discovered.

He barely got any sleep, yet the few hours regenerated him better than they ever had if he had been human. _I wonder if werewolves require less sleep_ , Stiles noted, and decided to ask Peter next time he saw him.

The thought was still off to him. By a lot. He didn't know why he trusted Peter, but it was like there was a small part of him connected to the man. A part that just wouldn't let go. And Peter had warned him about being an omega in hunter-infested territory, and he wasn't sure he was going to be able to do this- losing his only source of protection and information maybe wasn't such a good idea.

He mulled over breakfast, forcing his father to eat whole grain cereal, insisting that it was much healthier than the regular sugary kind.

By the time he was driving to school, he was done with the day.

His entire body was tense, and he remembered what Peter had told him about controlling the shift. He focused on his friends, and keeping them safe. For now, it was enough to suppress him. He had this nagging feeling that something wasn't right, like a small voice at the back of his mind telling him just turn back. It felt like he was missing something after he had gone to sleep last night. He could practically feel the lapse in his thoughts.

When he reached the school, the cop cars parked around were enough of a sign that something was off. _Why didn't my father tell me? Unless he didn't know...which means it happened recently while he wasn't on call,_ Stiles thought to himself, nothing a fairly decent amount of cruisers. _Something bad..._

"Stiles!" Scott's too loud voice brought him out of his stupor. Stiles smiled at him, but the look on his friend's face killed it instantly.

"What? What's the look for...?" Stiles asked, and Scott gave him an 'are you serious?' look.

"Your dad's the sheriff and you don't know?" He asked, and Stiles gave him a look.

"He had last night off, he wasn't on call," Stiles answered, "What happened?"

"An attempted murder! Well at least that's what I think, they're calling it an animal attack, but I don't know...after the other body, I'm starting to think there's a serial killer!" Scott exclaimed, and Stiles felt his heart drop into his throat. His vision became blurry and he struggled from losing control, he turned around, barely hearing Scott call his name as he stumbled for the showers. _I trained with Peter and went to bed. I trained with Peter and went to bed. I trained with Peter and..._ He continued the mantra in his head, trying to find the missing puzzle piece where his story seemed to lap. _Something's missing._

Then he remembered the howl. The bone tingling howl that had traveled through his body like a shot of energy, dragging him almost mindlessly to his feet, teeth and claws bared.

_Then I went to sleep...no!_

"I need to see it," he demanded, looking up and seeing his brown eyes staring back at him in the mirror, a concerned Scott not standing too far away. "Where did it happen?"

Scott seemed surprised at the sudden end of what he had assumed was a panic attack. He knew Stiles had them, and he had helped him through them many times before.

Unsure after seeing Stiles reaction, Scott tried to talk him out of it, but Stiles was stubborn as ever.

It happened in a bus. A driver was mauled by what they thought was something with the force of a bear. He was just holding onto life. _Well at least he's alive...for now._ Stiles tried to find comfort in that, but he couldn't.

He could smell his own scent -which he had come to know after sleeping in his bed for the past few nights- all around the crime scene, muddled with Peter's. He felt his breath catch and there was no denying it now.

_But why would Peter have me attack innocents? I thought he was trying to teach me...unless I lost control. But that wouldn't explain the howl, and the power. Peter said wolves are stronger when they hunt together..._

The shrill scream of the bell broke off his frantic thoughts, and he gave a defeated sigh, walking to class. He was going to at least pretend that he wasn't guilty for the attempted murder of a man- a bus driver at that.

The day passed surprisingly quickly. Even brutal maiming couldn't put a damper on his day -sarcasm noted-. He was so twitchy in his skin and it was so much worse that his usual ADHD. He was pretty sure half the school wanted him dead between his tapping, banging, and humming. He'd even earned a glare from Scott at lunch who had paused his love sick staring at Allison for a moment to notice Stiles' leg bouncing under the table.

"It burns calories," Stiles had said with a fake, dismissive smile that was convincing enough for Scott to go back to his pining.

When the last bell rang, he ran from the school at a pace that would make an Olympic sprinter jealous. He knew he had lacrosse practice today, and he could prove his newfound abilities to Jackson and rub it in his face, but the half-dead man happened to be a more pressing matter at the moment.

He didn't even stop at home, driving straight to the care center where he knew Peter would be half faking comatose, recharging for whatever schemes he was planning for tonight. All he needed to hear was that this was all a misunderstanding and it was just all just a silly mistake of Stiles' part.

He smiled at the brooding desk lady, not even checking in, knowing she wouldn't stop him. _No one is stopping me,_ he thought harshly, but quickly restrained the wolf-like thoughts to the back of his mind where he could directed them.

Peter's nurse was injecting him with something or other when he entered the room.

"Oh hi," she smiled, "I never caught your name yesterday," she smiled. "I'm Nurse Talbot, but you can call me Bella," she said with a voice that was too silky smooth for his liking. She kind of threw him off, but he ignored that, glancing at Peter who was sitting stoically as always in his chair where they put every day, but the window so he could 'enjoy' the sunlight.

"Stiles," he offered out a hand which she shook for a moment too long, her scent overwhelming him the closer she got. She reeked of scented body wash, hair product, and perfume, all pungent in their own ways. To a human nose, the perfume would be the only deductible smell, but to his heightened senses she smelled like she had doused herself in the stuff.

She nodded, smiled one last time, collecting her things and left. Once she was out of ear shot, Stiles sighed.

"If she were my nurse, I think I'd fake my own death," Stiles muttered, not allowing his mind to drift away from the real topic at hand. But before he could say anything, he swore he saw Peter's lips lift in the tiniest smile, as if it was all his body was capable of. Stiles had seen enough of his egotistical smirks in the last few days to know that wasn't true.

"I need to know what happened Peter, what you did to conceal the memory because I'm ready to go out of my freakin' mind! Someone's hurt and I know it's because of me..." He trailed, "And next time, I might kill someone."

"That's the point," Peter's smooth voice broke the silence and Stiles flinched, he hadn't expected anything.

He didn't say anything else, he had barely moved from his spot at all. It was almost as if Stiles had imagined him talking.

Finally, Stiles let out of the breath he didn't realize he was holding. Peter reached forward with a shaky limbs, grabbing his hand in his own, tracing a spiral with his claw into the soft skin of Stiles' palm. He didn't flinch away, simply watched the almost robotic-like movement. Then Peter was back in his position.

"Come tonight. I need help, and you did this to me," he say, hoping the small guilt trip will work on even a man as cold as Peter. _What do you expect, some crazy bitch killed his entire family._

Bella waved at him as he was leaving, but he kept his gaze down, pretending he hadn't seen it. She wouldn't be so pleased if she had heard their conversation. He needed to keep his emotions in check because once again he could feel the feral tug from within, scratching its way to the surface vainly as he fought it back down.

_That's the point._

He was so confused he knew he wouldn't get a blink of sleep by the time night rolled around.

~*~

He didn't know why he went back to the preserve. Maybe to think or maybe for a relaxing walk. Whatever it was, it had his nerves on end and his senses on high defense. Peter hadn't taught him how to scent emotion, but he had taught him how to focus his hearing.

He could hear squirrels scuttle ring in the leaves and a deer eating away at a plant. It was the sound of soft feet moving stealthily among the leaves that had the mast of his attention. They thought he couldn't hear them, and Stiles intended to let them know he did.

The person approached and Stiles could tell whoever it was, they weren't small. He swallowed back his fear, whipping back around on his feet, letting out a growl without shifting as Peter had showed him, hoping it'd be enough to drive the person away.

"Stop following me," Stiles ground out, trying to sound as intimidating as a 17-year-old with doe eyes could.

"You're a werewolf," the other man said in surprise, but not losing his intimidating stance. Stiles had seen enough Animal Planet to know he was challenging him. The man had dark hair and light eyes on what Stiles would describe as a perfectly chiseled face. He was of course adorned in leather because his appearance wasn't cliché enough for him apparently.

"No I'm a weredonkey," Stiles rolled his eyes, earning himself teeth bared and a flash of _blue_ eyes. Peter had told him beta eyes were yellow, and alpha eyes were red. He had never warned him about blue eyes.

They stared at each other for a few moments, and Stiles could feel his claws elongated.

"Someone was almost killed last night, and there's no convincing me it wasn't you," the man growled.

"I didn't," Stiles tried to defend himself, "At least not on purpose," his voice wavered a little, and the man eased up on the growling.

"You're bitten," he said, "But you move like a born wolf, that means...the rogue alpha bit you? But how do you have control," the man demanded, moving towards Stiles who took a shaky step backward, barring his teeth.

"Usually people start conversations by introducing themselves," he snapped, "and the alpha isn't rogue...at least I hope he's not," Stiles swallowed. He had no idea what a rogue werewolf looked like. _Maybe something along the lines of making a kid maim someone and then somehow take the memory. With full intent to kill may Stiles add._

"I'm Stiles," his voice faltered.

"Derek," he answered.

"Derek....Derek Hale," Stiles repeated. _One's enough, but two?_

Derek didn't question how Stiles knew his name, instead going straight to questioning.

"Do you know the alpha? He killed my- the girl in woods," Derek said, and Stiles rolled his eyes. He knew the girl was his family, and another werewolf.

"Laura was killed by Kate Argent," Stiles answered, spewing the information Peter had fed him. Derek let out a howl what he assumed was agony and rage, lunging for Stiles. Stiles screamed out as Derek's claws ripped across his chest, obviously intended to hurt him, and he struggled back trying to get a few swipes in but he was useless. He hadn't learned how to utilize his strengths yet and they worked more to hurt him than anyone else.

He heard a howl and didn't even realize it was himself until his mouth closed and Derek had finally relented his attacks.

"Get off of my you asshole," Stiles growled, pushing Derek away and skidding away to metaphorically lick his wounds. His shirt was ripped open, and red claw marks scoured the entire expanse of his chest. "I didn't do anything, I was bit in the middle of the night by a guy I've never met who supposedly has been in a coma for the last six years and shouldn't even be alive let alone walking around," Stiles yelled, "I can see, hear, and smell things I shouldn't be able to see, hear, and smell, and now I'm unconsciously maiming people," he took a breath, and Derek looked ready to speak, but Stiles kept going, "I have claws, pretty sure I didn't have those last week, and now there's a guy who's claiming to be my pack ordering me around in my sleep, and we can't even speak half the time because in a _God damn coma_!"

"Peter," Derek breathed out, and of course that was all he cares about. Not the guy he just almost ripped a new one.

Stiles got up, and he heard Derek follow him, but he whipped around he looked the taller (and definitely more muscular) man in the eyes. "Don't follow me," he spat, "I know your scent and if I even get a waft of it I swear to God," he said, sounding almost a little hysterical, but he sort of had the right. How could he trust this guy? Werewolves were on his shit list right now, and he couldn't trust any of them obviously or else he's going to end up doing something bad.

The cuts hurt like hell, but they were starting to heal. But his shirt didn't heal, and there was no way to get rid of the blood. He knew his father wasn't home but what if one of the neighbors saw him walk in looking like he's just been through a shredder!

He drove his jeep fast, and was pretty sure he left imprints of his hands on the steering wheel. His claws wouldn't retract no matter how hard he tried and he felt as though he had to be on guard. He didn't want to admit it, but Derek had scared the living shit out of him. He didn't know how to defend himself, and was obviously easy picking. _What if the hunters catch up to me?_

He ran into his house when he reached it, slamming the door. He felt the wounds ok his chest oozing blood and was careful not to drop on anything. Once he was in his room, he stripped of his blood and torn shirt, and pants, going to his closest to hide them until he could throw them away without his father noticing.

He was surprised to find another set of bloodied clothes already hiding there. They were his pajamas he had worn to bed wearing last night, and he vaguely remembered waking up in his boxers this morning. He felt as though a rock had settled in his gut, and he went to the shower, doing his best to take a shower with his limited mobility. _It will heal soon,_ he told himself, but that didn't make it hurt any less.

Once he was dressed again, he sat down and tried to breathe. So much had happened in the past few days and he felt as though his head was going to burst. He was waiting to wake up. After kneeing what he did the, he had no appetite so instead he laid in bed and waited for Peter.

His eyes snapped open from a pitiful sleep when he heard his window being opened and a body entering.

He sat up slowly, realizing it had only been a few minutes, but it had felt like hours.

As soon as Peter entered the room, he was over to Stiles. _He can smell the wounds._ He forced Stiles shirt up to look at the healing marks. They were stitching together quite well and were already just scratches.

"Who did this?" He demanded, and Stiles sighed.

"I met your nephew, _great guy_ ," he said, voice dripping with sarcasm, "He didn't know his lovely uncle was awake and biting people. He thought an alpha killed his sister.

Peter growled under his breath, shaking his head, "I was getting to him," he rolled his eyes, "And he should know. I was with Laura, she came to check up on me, and Kate took it as a threat and came after us. Laura, being an alpha, tried to protect me. I'm still healing, but Kate and her hunters killed her. I inherited her power, but they didn't know that. They left me to die. _They killed almost the last remaining bit of my family_!" He exclaimed, "The hunters killed my children, my wife, my sister, my nieces. They did this to me," he ran his hands over his scarred skin, and Stiles flinched. He could feel all of Peter's anguish, and it hit him like a wave, bringing tears to his eyes. He felt loss, pain, and lust for revenge all in one big wave and it made his knees weak. He gasped, sitting back on his bed, everything so overwhelming.

"Stiles?" Peter's voice broke through the haze. He lifted his head to meet the alphas eyes, trying to suppress all their shared emotions. _That would mean Peter could feel my fear._ Then again, he probably reeked of it.

"Who did I hurt?" Stiles asked finally.

"An accomplice of Kate's. He forged legal documents and helped her get away," Peter said, his tone softer, "He's dead now."

Stiles let out a cry. He didn't know what for, but it escaped his lips before he could control it. He fell into Peter's arms and buried his face in his shirt. His scent was oddly comforting and he felt himself grasping on for dear life.

"Your wolf wanted revenge for me," Peter said, "And I wasn't about to stop you."

"My wolf?" Stiles questioned, slowly releasing Peter from his vice grip.

"Your thoughts when you are human is your conscious. The voice inside your head. When you're a werewolf, you also have the wolf side of your thoughts. Your wolf. They are not necessarily separate, but soon you will notice the difference between them; such as sudden urges to attack people who threaten you. When you lose control, the wolf side takes over, and can cause harm if not controlled properly," Peter explained.

"Why do I not remember?" Stiles asked, his voice small.

"I took them memories from you, I don't want you to remember because it will hurt you. We are a small pack, and because you are my only beta, our connection is strong, but pack wise, we are weak. Betas make an alpha stronger. The more of them in the pack, the stronger the pack is as a whole," Peter explained and Stoles sighed. He didn't want the memories back, he didn't want to know. He tried to reassure himself that the man deserves it, but he kept thinking about what his family must think…did he have kid? They didn't deserve to suffer for what their father had done.

"He was a murder Stiles. He assisted Kate in murdering innocent children, and humans. My wife was human. Two of my children where human. And he helped people burned them alive for money. He didn’t even know werewolves existed, so he can’t use the excuse we are monsters. It was pure greed," Peter spat, "He knew exactly what he was doing."

Stiles couldn't even imagine losing children. It must be worse than losing a parent, because Peter's job in life had been to keep them safe. And he probably felt as though he failed them because of a crazy arsonist. He had to bury his mother when he was a child, but he could imagine multiplying that grief times eleven. Twelve including Laura.

"My oldest son was human," Peter said. "I had four children, three boys and the youngest was a little human girl. The two other sons were werewolves. We lived with my sister, Talia, with her husband, three children; Laura, Derek, and her youngest Cora, and my brother, his wife, and their child. There were fourteen of us in all and only three-" Peter stopped painfully, and Stiles felt the stab of grief along with him, "-Two of us survived the hunters."

"I'm having that sudden urge to kill and maim," Stiles ground out, and it was true. His 'wolf' wanted to taste the people responsible for this's blood.

Peter actually smiled at that.

"Kate is in hiding," Peter said, "But I can occupy myself other way," he said with the kind of smile that sent chills down Stiles' spine.

 


	2. Save Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had made a dozen shots when the scent hit his nose. Peter's musky forest scent mixed with the chemicals of the care center. He stopped in his tracks, just to have Jackson crash into him. 
> 
> He looked over to see Peter sitting on the bleachers. The damn bleachers!
> 
> But something was different.
> 
> His scars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long...I've had this part written since I published the first, but I just got around to editing it. I still have to edit my other two fics too. I've decided to stop publishing them before I edit so I don't get too far behind on it. Also, thank you for all the positive feedback! I was a little worried about posting Steter because it is a risky ship, and I honestly am not a hardcore shipper, but I was in love with this idea...as heartachingly sad as it is...you'll see...

The next time Stiles saw Peter, shit went downhill. He had been woken in the middle of the night by a howl, and dragged himself up despite his body's protests. His wolf recognized the howl as his alphas’. And Peter needed to help.

He was running down the street at five in the morning by the time his mind could even catch up. He managed to keep his wolf in check, but that didn't stop him from sprinting to find Peter like his life depended on it. _It might just_ , he thought to himself, and speeding up feeling the chilling air rush over his skin.

He didn't recognize the warehouse, but he could scent Peter. He rushed to find the alpha, seeing him stalking a blonde woman holding a sniper rifle. _Kate Argent_ the named clicked in his head.

He climbed onto the roof, but his senses almost immediately made him realize he wasn’t alone. A silhouette stood tall in the moon light, and Stiles could see the outline of clawed fingers.

"What are you doing here?" He growled, and flashing blue eyes snapped to meet his.

"Stopping him," Derek answered back and every bone in Stiles' body wanted to do the same, but his wolf wouldn't let him. It refused to disobey an order. _Did he call me here to stop Derek?_

"I can't...let you do that," his voice came out strained.

"Fight his control Stiles!" He said, "His howl is controlling you!"

Stiles tried, but he couldn't. It wasn't like trying to control the shift. It was like he was being forced. _And a tiny part of me wants Kate dead._

He went to leap the building away from Derek when the shot rang out. He heard the click of a safety pulled and before he could react he was falling, a stabbing pain shooting through his arm.

A gunshot wound.

He looked down at it and saw his stomach turn. The wound was steaming blue, and an infection-like rash was spreading down his arm in black veins, sending fire through his blood.

He could hear footsteps rushing towards him and he tried to crawl away. _He needed to get up_. Focusing his energy on the simple task of running away was easier said than done. When he staggered to the feet he clutched his pulsing arm, he forced himself to make it to the woods before collapsing.

He could hear two voices, one that he recognized as the woman; Kate's, and the other a man who he had never seen before. He couldn't make out what they were saying, his mind was too concentrated on the wound. It was as if all his senses were dull.

Stiles tried to keep dragging himself but soon the attempts became more work than they were worth for the distance he was going. _Oh God whatever was in that bullet is poisoning me oh God,_ he panicked. His blood felt like it was on fire, and unlike the scratches Derek had given them, it didn't go away and it didn't heal.

"Why aren't you healing?" He muttered to himself, barely recognizing his raspy voice.

He laid his head back on the ground convinced he was going to die all because a howl woke him up in the middle of the night.

He was surprised when he heard the cracking of leaves and a person approaching him. _Great, the hunters are coming to finish me off._

 _"Stiles!?"_ The voice asked, and he reached a hand out. "Stiles you reek of wolfsbane...no!" The person crouched down next to him and Peter's scarred face was in front of his. "Shit! They already left! I need another of the bullet she shot you with!" He exclaimed, mulling over Stiles’ wound. He was surprised when the alpha took his hand in his own, gripping it tight. Stiles watched similar black veins dance up Peter's arm and he felt the worst of the pain seep away. Had Peter been poisoned two? The entire ordeal left him confused.

"What did you just do?" He asked, feeling the pain progressively return when Peter removed his hand. He wanted to whine out but retained himself, seeing the action was hurting Peter as well. The black veins on his arm were different from the ones that had been on Peter’s, yet the alpha had still been it pain.

"I took some of the pain...that _bitch_ shot you with a wolfsbane bullet. She knew you weren't the alpha she came for, but she's a blood thirty bitch. Wolfsbane works like poison to us," Peter explained.

"I'm going to die, aren't I?" He asked, trying to fight the pathetic tone his voice took.

"In 48 hours, yes. If it gets to your heart...you're a dead wolf," Peter said surprisingly calm. "She's determined to take everything from me," he ground out, a little more aggressive. “I can't wait to sink my claws into her skin," he growled, picking Stiles up in his arms much to the boy's protests; both of pain, and trying to mutter out he could walk by himself.

But it was too late Peter was literally running him through the forest. He couldn't help but burry his face in Peter's chest, breathing in his comforting scent, his injured arm cradled at his side while the other hung almost limply.

"There's a way to fix this, but I need the bullet she shot you with. It's the only way to rid the wolfsbane in your system," Peter said as he ran. They had reached a familiar place in the preserve Stiles was sure he'd seen before. Then the remnants of Hale house came into view.

Peter rushed inside the burnt building, dropping him onto the same couch he had woken up on the night he was bitten. It smelled of soot and rot and he curled his nose.

"Someone else is here," he pointed out, though he knew it must he obvious to Peter.

He was surprised when the alpha looked up, scenting the air. _He was too distracted and his guard was down...but why? Couldn't he just go bite a more useful person than a gangly limbed teen like Stiles?_

"Derek," Peter growled out, and Stiles saw Derek jump in out of the corner of his eyes, pouncing straight towards Peter. His attack was unsuccessful and Peter easily threw him through a broken wall. He heard Derek crack a few bones in the process and almost winced for him. But then again, he was slowly dying over here. "We can do this later, right now, we have a mutual problem. It's _your fault_ she shot Stiles," Peter spat, barring his teeth, his eyes glowing red, "If you would have just let him follow my orders he would have been by my side where I had wanted him!"

"Your orders? He's killing people!" Derek yelled back, and Stiles winced, "You want to keep the hunters away from us, yet here you are murdering people!" Derek yelled back.

"They do not deserve to live, you should know better than anyone else that's true!" Peter retorted. "And if you stay out of our way, than you won't have to worry about it. No one made you come back to Beacon Hills!"

"Laura did!" Derek said back, but there was anguish in his tone. It was practically rolling off him in waves. "She wanted me to see you!"

"And they _killed her_! See what I mean Derek! It's the hunters' turn to be hunted! They're lucky I don't burn their houses down around them and their kids. She's taken my entire pack, and now she's trying to take what I've gained back!" Peter took a few steps towards Derek, "Watch over him, he can't be left along in this state," he finished with a feral sounding growl and then he was fully wolfed out. Stiles still wasn't used to his alpha form, which was an ugly looking beast, half man half wolf and much scarier than the half-shifted beta form.

Peter growled and turned and sprinted out of the house, leaving Stiles dumbstruck and leaving him alone in the woods with Derek.

"Why did you take the bite in the first place?" Derek sighed, shaking his head, "Most people want it because of sickness or strength but you..."

"What do you mean? People get a choice?" He asked, and Derek turned towards him, "My father is the sheriff, and he got a report of a dead body. I was out here too, and when I was alone...Peter came out of nowhere and bit me. I woke up here, and as anyone can imagine it was a little weird," Stiles concluded his story with a whine of pain. He could feel the poison of the wolfsbane working its way through his system.

"He- that- that's..." Derek began, obliviously looking for the right words to say, "Usually when biting a human it's under circumstances like Peter's- a pack less alpha, but we ask. Explain the hardship of this life, and all the bad as well as the good. The bite can kill people not strong enough to handle it. Peter could have killed you!"

Stiles had never really thought about any of this. He'd seen enough werewolf movies, and no one had ever asked permission to change someone. He didn't even realize most werewolves were born that way. Apparently they didn't just go around biting people.

He didn't have much time to think about it though because his head was looking back and his vision was going black.

~*~

When he awoke, someone was holding him.

 _"Derek, hold him down...this is going to be quite painful,"_ a voice said, but it sounded distant. He heard the cracking of something metal and suddenly it felt as though all of the poison was being drawn back. And it was painful. He screamed, writhing around and fighting against the person holding him. A coarse hand caressed his head tentatively as the pain began to fade slowly, feeling like an electric shock had just traveled through his body.

As he came too, he realized he was pinned to the floor, Peter looming over him.

"Are you awake?" He asked, and Stiles nodded. Derek slowly released him from his vice grip, and Stiles sat up, rubbing a hand over the healing gunshot wound.

As soon as he was up, Derek retreated to where Dereks go and he was left alone with Peter.

"Your howl was controlling me," Stiles broke the silence, "I heard your howl the same night I killed the bus driver," Stiles voice broke.

"An alpha’s howl effects different betas' wolves differently. The first night it was a howl of anguish at Laura's grave," the man admitted, though he didn't meet Stiles' eyes directly. "I wanted revenge, and your wolf wanted to get it for me by killing a man who assisted in the fire. I didn't stop you, I'll admit, but I wasn't ready to start making you kill for me," Peter explained.

"But when I talked to you in the care center you said 'that's the point'," Stiles pushed.

"I wasn't exactly in a state to elaborate," Peter sighed, "You were worried about killing people, I said 'that's the point' because that was my plan. Kill the man who forged the papers. I just wasn't planning on you having you do it for me. I have to admit it got quite messy, but he deserved a slow death. Oh how much I wanted to just burn his house around him, but his family did not deserve to suffer for his mistakes. I don't kill innocent people, unlike them," he said, and no matter how much he justified the killing, Stiles still couldn't see it as the right thing to do.

And he was foolish enough to believe it ended with Kate (who of course had gotten away as soon as Peter had realized Stiles injured).

"I was ready to kill her, you know. Then I heard you cry out in pain. I knew she had shot you. The gun had been pointed at me until you had jumped the roof. Do you know what it was like to follow your trail of blood? I thought you were dead because I couldn't hear your heartbeat at first. I was ready to turn around and rip her entire family to shreds," Peter said, his gaze still not meeting Stiles'. There had been an emotion other than anger in his voice…and it had been anguish.

Carefully, Stiles asked, "Why do you care about me?"

"Your scent was the first thing I smelled when I woke up. And pack bonds are strong, especially this one. I could sense your pain and it was unbearable for me. And you did not leave, unlike my nephew- my only remaining family, who blames me for Laura's death. I couldn't protect her, I know that, but I don't blame myself," Peter said, but his heart skipped a beat, and Stiles could feel the pain wafting off him. _He blames himself for her death..._

He didn't know what to do so he hugged Peter.

"I need to go...my nurse will be expecting me," Peter said as he pulled back, and without saying goodbye, he shifted and ran. _It's like werewolves are immune to talking about their feelings,_ Stiles rolled his eyes, sighing.

He sat alone for a few seconds before pulling himself to his feet.

"He's manipulating you," a voice broke the silence and he looked to the side to see Derek. "He's using the pack bond to mess with your emotions."

"He didn't make me kill anyone, I did that on my own," Stiles said, and his heartbeat stayed steady. He knew he wasn't lying. "I have more control now. I'm not a born wolf and I’m not used to pack bonds. His emotions hit me strong and I dealt with it the wrong way," Stiles said, but the guilt was still eating him alive. Whether or not it made Peter happier he hadn't wanted to _kill_ anyone.

"You reek of guilt Stiles," Derek said pointedly and Stiles huffed.

"He's your uncle," Stiles retorted, "And he blames himself for what happened!" Stiles added, and he couldn't help but hear how Derek's heartbeat increased at the words _blames himself for what happened._

"That's not my uncle, that's the survivor of a fire," Derek said back, almost harshly. Stiles sank back from his words.

"He's your _family_!" Stiles hissed. "My mother didn't even remember who I was the last week of her life but I didn't _disregard her_ because she wasn't who I wanted her to be!" He growled, "You think you would want to keep him close, you know he's next on Kate's list. She may not know who the new alpha is, but she will kill him the first chance he gets, and then you will be alone!"

"Stiles that not what I-"

"Save it," Stiles spat, and then he was stalking out of the house. Not that it was much of a house at all. He sprinted away through the preserve until he reached his home, a good ten miles away. It was already early morning so he just took a shower and made his father breakfast before leaving for school, his body perfectly awake. Maybe werewolves required less sleep.

He was not really ready for the day. He was sure he was going to get bullshit from coach for skipping practice but what was his excuse? He can't just say "I'm basically responsible for the recent homicide that took place on school grounds."

As soon he was walking in, he was bombarded by Scott.

"You wouldn't believe what happened last night!" Scott exclaimed, and Stiles fought back the retort of " _was it more exciting than almost dying_?"

"What?" He asked, faking Scott's level of enthusiasm.

"So I was at dinner with Allison at her parents place, and some psychotic guy broke in! Broke in through an upstairs window and stole an entire box of her Aunt Kate's special, handmade bullets. Probably to sell them, but still, it was pretty crazy. But I was there to comfort Allison," Scott told his story and Stiles felt his heart stop. _Aunt Kate's special bullets...you mean the same damn 'special bullet' that she lodged into my arm._

"Her aunt wouldn't happen to be Kate Argent by any chance?" Stiles asked.

"Yeah, actually, she is! How'd you know?" _Of fucking course because this day couldn't get any better. Scott was dating the daughter/niece of the people trying to kill him. For all he knew, so was Allison._

"Coincidence," Stiles muttered, "So what happened?"

"The guy smashed in through the window when we were eating dinner. She grabbed a pistol and ran upstairs but it was too late the dude was gone with her bag which apparently had a lot of valuable stuff in it. Chris, Allison's father, thinks the guy was targeting Kate because he knew exactly what to take," he said and Stiles nodded. But he didn't agree. _Actually it was Peter Hale, and he saved my pathetic life with those stolen bullets._

 _And she knew that. She had to._ Stiles shivered at the thought of her figuring out it was him and coming after him, but he had to force himself to remember she had barely even seen his shadow just taken a very skilled/lucky shot in the dark.

~*~

Stiles woke up dripping blood. He had to hold back his terrified scream as he scrambled up. It was if he had _bathed in it_ , and the scent was intoxicating. He threw his sheets off him, crawling out of his bed and putting his head in his hands.

"You didn't kill anybody Stiles," Peter's voice ripped through his panic, "Can't say the same for myself, but you didn't do anything."

"You- you- why!?" He cried out quietly, desperately trying to wash the foreign substance from his skin.

"He deserved it," Peter said calmly. But Stiles was already cowering away from the man. Peter seemed to notice his actions, and reached out and snatched Stiles' hand before he even had a chance to pull it away, yanking the boy towards him with ease.

He placed Stiles hand gently on the side of his face over the coarse scars that covered almost the whole expanse of that side of his head. His long hair was even burned away on a section of his scalp. Peter let go of his hand, but Stiles kept it there, feeling the injured skin under his palm.

"They did this," he said, and Stiles remembered Derek's words. _He's manipulating you._ He ignored his conscious telling him to pull away and gave into his wolf that just wanted to comfort Peter.

Stiles snapped back to reality when his phone rang. He flinched back from Peter, grabbing his phone off his bedside table, trying to ignore the blood that smeared across the screen when he answered it.

"Stiles," his father's voice met his with urgency.

"Yeah Dad?" Stiles responded, feeling his heart beating hard in his chest, the sound reverberating through his body. "What's up?" He asked, though he already had an inkling.

"Two...people...or animals...were not sure yet broke into a movie rental store and killed the only worker there. It's going to be a late night for me, this is the third death in a month, and I'm starting to see a pattern," he said and Stiles gulped.

"Twice is a coincidence and three times is a pattern," he repeated his father's long time motto, seeing Peter giving him a quizzical look; there was no doubt he wasn't listening to the entire conversation unfold.

The Sheriff sighed a long exhale of air before speaking again; "Night son, don't think because I'm not home you're playing hooky, I swear if I hear anything from the teachers the next body will be yours," his father joked and Stiles laughed.

"Is that a threat?" Stiles fake gasped, "I can get you arrested for that!"

"Better take it up with the Sheriff then," his father chuckled, "Go to bed, because I wasn't joking," he added, and before Stiles could reply the line was dead. _He's probably really busy right now._

Stiles turned back towards Peter, "Clean yourself up. You can't go back to the Care Center covered in blood. The showers down the hall, I'll be in my father's room," he said, barely recognizing his own voice. He grabbed a fresh pair of pajamas and stalked off without a second thought, satisfied when he heard the sounds of the shower down the hall come to life.

He took his own brief shower, scrubbing his skin raw and trying not to watch the water filtering down the drain turning a mixture of red and brown. When he was satisfied, he dressed quickly, listening to the sounds of the house. _Silence._

He had assumed Peter had left, so when he found the man standing in his room with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist he was quite surprised.

He stared for a moment, opening his mouth to say something, but closed it again probably looking like a fish out of water. For six years of doing nothing but lying in bed, Peter did not look bad at all. Water was drilling down his torso, but Stiles' eyes then found the scars which stretched all the way down the pale expanse of his stomach and under the towel. They were even on his legs in some places.

His hipbones and ribs jutted out, but he didn’t look malnourished. Tight muscle covered his body, giving him an almost lean appearance despite his broad shoulders.

His eyes met the alpha's again and he almost looked sad. It was like Peter had put up an emotional wall because Stiles wasn't getting anything but _blank_ from him, even when he dug at the pack bonds.

"You didn't give me any clean clothes," Peter finally spoke, and Stiles nodded tersely.

"Why don't they heal?" He finally asked, trying to keep his voice as calm as possible.

"When you go through the trauma my body went through- _physically and emotionally-_ it's hard to come back from it. My body has come a long way, cell by cell. My mind was fried and I had lost sight in one of my eyes. My fingers were practically useless and I should be paralyzed from the damage to my spine," he answered, but there was no anger or sadness in his voice. His tone was bland and emotionless and Stiles wasn't even getting anything other than his usual musky scent coming off him. _Not a single emotion._ Stiles figured it was probably a born wolf thing, but it was still a little unnerving.

He could easily pick-up on his own sadness and anger mingling in the air. It wasn't exactly pity, just sadness for the suffering he had endured just to lose more after finally awaking.

Without thinking, he leaned forward and pressed his hand gently on Peter's side where the worst of the burns were exposed. The skin twitched under his touch and he was surprised when Peter didn't bite his hand off or say much of anything at all.

His fingers danced over the skin when he suddenly accidentally tapped into a sense he didn't know he had.

"You're in pain," he blurted. He didn't know how he could tell, but it was like his fingertips just _sensed it._ He had seen Peter do it before but he wasn't sure how he was doing it. He was tempted to jump back when the black veins danced up his arm, the pain reminding him of the wolfsbane poison coursing through his veins. But he didn't pull back until it stopped on its own.

He didn't cry because of the pain. He cried because of the raw emotion the act caused, and he wondered how others did it so effortlessly. He didn't even try to hold back the waterworks, simply letting the tears fall down his face.

A few moments he realized he was being pathetic and that Peter was still standing there in his towel.

"I'll- I'll just um...go get you dry clothes, I'm sorry," he mumbled, wiping at his eyes. He turned to leave but Peter grabbed his shirt and forced him to turn back.

"Thank you," he whispered so quietly human ears wouldn't have been able to pick it up. Stiles gave a small smile, going to his father's room and grabbing clothes he knew wasn't going to miss. He left the room for Peter to change and when he entered again, the man was gone.

With a sigh, Stiles began stripping his sheets from his bed. He knew he wasn't going to sleep, and hey, it was a nice night for a fire, and he had quite a few pairs of bloody clothes to burn.

He washed the sheets in the tub first so there was no blood in the washing machine when he threw them in. He then went to the home's practically unused den. He hadn't sat in here since his mom died. It seemed like a crude reason to use the room again, but he had no choice. He lit a fire in the fireplace and once it was burning bright, threw the _three_ pairs of bloody clothes in. If it was any consolation, one pair was stained with his own blood from his first run in with Derek and his happy claws.

When his father came home around noon, he found Stiles sleeping on the couch in the den, the fire almost burned out. He was tempted to question the boy, and yell at him for disobeying him, but he could bring himself to. His son was curled around the same blanket he used to lay under with his mother every night as she read him stories before bed. Stiles hadn't gone in that room and actually settled down since the day she died.

~*~

Stiles woke up to his father shaking his shoulder, and he staggered to his feet, seeing the sun coming through the window.

"What- what time is it?" He exclaimed, and his father gently pushed him back down.

"Stiles you're running a slight fever," his father told him, and he had to hold back snapping _werewolves don't get sick, my normal body temperature is higher than yours_ but he realized his father was just worried. He looked down and saw it was his mother's old blanket he had thrown off him, and he vaguely remembered sniffing it last night and crying for hours when he realized it still held her scent.

He sat up slowly this time, and his father handed him a cup of tea. Green tea, Stiles could tell, laced with honey, milk, and a pinch of sugar and cinnamon just the way he liked it. He gladly took the warm mug and took a long sip.

"I called you in sick since you've already missed half of the day. Scott called to make sure you were okay, and I told him you had a rough night," his father said with a sympathetic gaze. It didn't take a genius to piece the most of it together. His father had no way of knowing about Peter, but him being in the den was proof enough.

"Thank you," he said, and leaned forward and hugged his dad, "Be careful okay? Something dangerous is out there...and..." Stiles choked on his words, fighting tears. Enough had been spilled last night.

"I will Stiles," he said softly, "I will."

~*~

That night Peter explained what the full moon would be like for Stiles. His control was okay, but they both knew it wouldn't be good if Stiles was alone. His anchor was uneasy, and failed him once during their training session.

"Snap out of it!" Peter ordered as Stiles struggled vainly beneath him, fully wolfed out and trying to rip into Peter, " **Snap out of it** ," he ordered, his voice more of a growl. Stiles instantly stilled beneath him, coming to. His wolf was still on the surface, causing him to stay in beta form. "The full moon is close," Peter repeated, "Control yourself!"

"I- my anchor- it didn't work like it has before. It's like the wolf part of my overpowered and reassured me they wouldn't be the ones getting hurt," he exclaimed. He had told Peter what his anchor was, but when he had asked what the alpha's was, he had gotten claws to his shoulder.

"Find a new one," Peter growled, launching at him again, but this time Stiles reacted better, dodging the attack without going feral, his eyes blazing golden with power as they egged Peter on. Of course, Peter's next attack easily had him pinned to the forest floor, but this time instead of losing control he kicked at Peter with his feet, catching him off guard enough to be able to escape and roll away. With a shout of glee he launched himself back at the man landing on top of him. He laughed as he was easily thrown away and tumbled through the leaves a few feet away. Peter hadn't even shifted yet he was so much stronger, but Stiles didn't let it get him down. This wasn't about winning, it was about controlling himself. "Usually one does not laugh when their enemy is about to tear into them," Peter said pointedly, and Stiles staggered to his feet and shrugged.

"A little fun wouldn't kill you, would it?" He asked, poking Peter's shoulder. Peter was smiling just the smallest bit when he growled quietly and then he was shoving Stiles to the ground. Stiles cried out pathetically as he crashed to the ground painfully, Peter's claws lodged into his shoulder. Not three seconds later an arrow pierced the tree behind right where he had been standing, exploding with electricity. _That almost hit me._

"Here Wolfy, Wolfy, Wolfy," a voice called out through the night and Stiles tensed as he recognized Kate's voice.

"Kate, stop," a man's voice accompanied hers, sounding almost strained.

Peter growled, and stood, but Stiles did to, getting in front of him.

"Don't shift, they won't know you're an alpha," Stiles said, his glowing eyes bearing into Peter's crimson red ones. Peter sighed, gripping Stiles' arm tight, but his eyes flashed back to their normal piercing blue. Stiles didn't even bother shifting because when he turned he saw Kate there. She saw him in his beta form. _She's going to tell Allison._

"Well look who's up and moving," Kate smiled and Peter growled, but other than that, kept his composure. Anger flooded through the pack bond in almost a crippling amount. "It's a shame you didn't burn like the rest of them," she tisked and Stiles put his hand on Peter's arm, gripping it tight. He wanted her gone, but he still wasn't sure about _dead._ Too much blood was already on his hands than he's care to think about.

Then the man appeared, raising his crossbow.

"We didn't do anything," Stiles tried to reason over the constant sound of Peter's growling.

"There's now three bodies," Kate said waving around her gun like it was a toy, "All caused by _animals like you_ ," she spat.

"The only killer here is you!" Stiles growled back, "Laura's blood is on _hunter's_ hands! You attacked her and Peter unprovoked," he said, trying to keep calm enough that he could shift back down. "You killed an alpha! Where do you think that power goes? To the next strongest wolf. Now a rogue is running around with the power of an alpha thanks to you," Stiles lied, and he knew Peter heard the tick of his heart over 'rogue'. Stiles gripped his arm even tighter.

The man looked over at Kate with betrayal. "The code Kate!" He whispered under his breath, but Stiles heard it crystal clear.

" _We hunt those, who hunt us_ ," Peter said with a smile, "Maybe we should take it up too, Stiles," he said with a growl, barring his teeth and careful not to let his eyes flash. Stiles tried to stop him but he was jumping into the fight with claws extended. A cross bow clinked and Stiles felt the arrow pierce the muscle of his arm, pinning him to the three behind him. He howled in pain, begging Peter to stop. The wolf circled around them, dodging ever shot.

"Leave now and we won't follow!" Stiles begged and the man looked over. He seemed a little more compassionate than Kate. He was surprised when he ordered her to retreat and they began to back away, Kate still shooting into the dark.

"I'm going to get you one day Hale, and your little betas," Kate ground out. _Two betas?_

Suddenly the arrow was being ripped violently from his shoulder and he dropped to the ground in pain.

"C'mon, get up!" Stiles looked up to see Derek offering a hand up.

"Where's Peter?" Stiles asked as soon as he was standing. The area stuck of wolfsbane from the bullets Kare had shot out. He was lucky the arrow hadn't been laced with it.

"He's gone rabid," Derek said, "We need to stop him before he kills again."

Stiles didn't have to be told twice; he set off running only a pace behind Derek as they followed Peter's scent trail. He could scent the raw anger and pain that had wafted off the alpha as he had crashed through the woods. _He's bloodthirsty, and he might kill someone innocent._ That thought was enough to speed Stiles up. He sprinted past Derek, but as soon as burnt skin met his nose harshly, he knew they were too late.

Derek recoiled back from the scent violently as if he had run into a brick wall. _Almost like he had smelt it before._ Stiles' knelt by the fallen man's side, the smell of terror coming off him in waves. Stiles was relieved for a moment that he didn't share a pack bond with Derek as well, or the beta's emotions may have had him down too.

Derek staggered to his feet with Stiles' help, pushing the smaller boy away as soon as he was standing. _Werewolves and their inability to let anyone help them_ , Stiles sighed, approaching the sight slowly. He couldn't help but notice as Derek held back.

"Two bodies," Stiles said curtly, "He threw them into their own fire," Stiles sighed. It looked as though the two men had been hanging out here by the sight of scattered beer bottles.

"They're...they were arsonists," Derek muttered, and Stiles turned towards him, "They're arsonists. They assisted in the fire," he finished. He could recognize one of the charred remains and it was no doubt who the other was. That was why they had been targeted.

They ran a few miles away before the scent finally fading and Stiles felt as though he could breathe again.

"Calm down Stiles," Derek snapped, "You're losing control!"

"He's killing people," Stiles said shrilly, "And I can feel it. His anger, his rage, his satisfaction as he watched them burn," Stiles gasped out. It was as if he had committed the act himself.

"What?" Derek exclaimed, "That's deeper than a pack bond, you weren't there..." He said slowly, eyeing the boy. "You killed for Peter, didn't you. The man on the bus, that's why the job wasn't finished properly. He didn't order you to do it, you did it yourself."

"Yeah, but not on purpose!" Stiles tried to defend himself but the attempt was feeble. He fell to his knees with a defeated cry. "What did I do?" He asked, trying to keep his breath in control.

"Pack is your anchor, isn't it," Derek said, and Stiles looked up at him with a glare. "When a beta kills for an alpha, they strengthen the normal bonds formed among a pack. Even stronger than if a beta kills when ordered. You have made it impossible for yourself to leave him, even if you want to. You're connected by a bond only broken by death. And my uncle knows that. He's abusing that power," Derek sighed, and Stiles looked up at him with wide eyes. "By killing he bus driver you basically may have offered your eternal loyalty to Peter. If he ordered you to kill your father...you wouldn't be able to stop."

"He wouldn't? Would he?" Stiles asked, not even trying to hide the panic in his voice as he struggled for control.

"No probably not," Derek sighed, but he looked defeated.

"He took some of my memories. I've been at all the killings except this one, but I don't remember them," Stiles said, and Derek's gaze snapped back to him.

"He didn't want you to know your wolf submitted to him. You were probably panicking because your body forced you to. Loyal wolves in the past were usually part of power hungry packs. A few of them even consisted of multiple alphas all bonded to make the pack and its wolves almost unstoppable. The hunters managed the clear out most of the worst, but they're still out there. Peter didn't want you to do something stupid probably. The power drives weaker wolves mad to go on killing sprees to satisfy their alpha. Every person you or Peter kill, the pack gets stronger. It's hard power to deal with, especially when it comes to new betas. Once he kills enough people, he will heal and be strong enough to take on Kate," Derek explained, and though Stiles had gained control, the panic was coursing through his veins like disease, crippling him from head to toe.

"Tomorrow is the full moon, what if he kills enough people to be strong enough- what if I kill and he makes me go after Kate. Today, if the hunter hadn't shot me...I would have launched myself right at Kate," he sighed, running his hands through his hair.

"You have to keep control. And don't let Peter's claws near your neck, it's how he takes memories," Derek explained, and then he was heading off in the opposite direction without another word. _Someone likes dramatic exits,_ Stiles tried to joke with himself, but failed when instead of laughing he felt tears start to drip down his face.

~*~

It was the day of the full moon. Stiles woke up with a jolt, sweat dripping from his skin, his alarm clock's screams deafening to his sensitive ears.

He slammed it a little too hard, feeling it smash under his hand. _So much for that_ , he thought groggily as he sat up, going straight for the shower to wash last night's events off his skin.

"Gotta leave early today," his father's voice at the door surprised him, "Two more bodies were found last night." He heard the disappointment in his father's voice, and he knew he was tired. He had been working overtime for a case he didn't know was above his head. Stiles told himself he would try to stop Peter, and he ignored his wolf protesting at the idea.

"Okay Dad, be careful, I love you," Stiles answered back, and he could almost hear his father's smile at his words.

Once he was done showering, he dressed and skipped breakfast, going straight for his jeep. He was jumpy and he could feel the tension beneath his skin. The pressure of his wolf wanting to escape was already arising. The itching beneath his skin was gradual and it was only getting worse.

School made it no easier. Mr. Harris almost made him shift, but Scott's hand on his shoulder helped him. _Pack._ His wolf had thought contently. Scott is _pack._ Stiles had been confused at the thought, but had let it pass figuring he could ask Peter later. He remembered Peter mentioning some of his children were human. Stiles could imagine Peter having a family, rather a _human_ family. The man had been raising two human children with a human wife. It was an odd thought, but it made Stiles realize. _Pack is family. Family isn't always wolf. Humans can be pack._

His happiness from his realization was quickly crushed when coach caught up with him.

"Bilinski! Where do you think you're going?" He barked and Stiles sighed.

"Home?" He tried, seeing his scowl widen.

"No you're not. We have two players down and we need you for the game tomorrow. You've been skipping practice don't think I haven't noticed," he said sternly, though he knew coach cared more about skill than attendance.

"Um I can't..." Stiles' lame excuse landed him right on his ass.

"Boy problem?" Coach asked, and Stiles winced. _Yeah, homocidal boy problems._ He though sarcastically, pretending it wasn't odd that his coach knew he was gay. _Well, your crush on Danny is pretty obvious,_ he thought pointedly and stopped when he realized he hadn't thought about Danny in weeks.

"What? No? I just..."

"-Are gonna play the game! That's the spirit!" Coach said excitedly, and Stiles rolled his eyes. _I could do with a little practice, at least the game isn't to tonight_ he figured, and turned to follow Coach towards the field.

~*~

He had made a dozen shots when the scent hit his nose. Peter's musky forest scent mixed with the chemicals of the care center. He stopped in his tracks, just to have Jackson crash into him.

He looked over to see Peter sitting on the bleachers. _The damn bleachers!_

But something was different.

His scars.

Of course, he didn't have much time because soon he had a very angry Jackson crushing him to the ground, and the ball had rolled out of his reach. He groaned as he felt a few ribs snap, rolling to the side and feeling them already begin to heal.

"That's rough, take a break Bilinski, walk it off. Jackson, give me three laps and learn to stop hurting the other players," Coach snapped the orders and soon Stiles found himself seated a row beneath Peter.

"Your scars," Stiles said, mesmerized by how different Peter looked completely and utterly _healed._ His hair had grown back on the places on his scalp where it had been missing and his skin was now smooth against his cheek.

"I had enough energy to heal my face, but just my face," Peter sighed, "By tonight, I will be in tip top shape," he said with a sly smile.

"What about the care center?" Stiles asked. He could still smell the scent of medication and _death_ on Peter's skin and it was a little unsettling.

"I'm dead to them as far as they are concerned, of course, my body's gone missing but that is none of their concern anymore. I wasn't exactly a high priority patient place. It is where they send people with no family to die, they won't miss me," he concluded and Stiles wanted to question what if people saw him up and moving around and recognized him, but he resisted.

"That's great, really," Stiles smiled. _He doesn't need to kill anyone else,_ Stiles thought with relief. Maybe this was the end and maybe his father could finally have the body trail end.

Of course, all good things don't last, because Stiles could practically smell the anger on Peter- scratch that, _he could_ \- when Danny helped him up from his second fall of the day ( _also caused by Jackson_ ) and patted him on the back. Stiles excited ' _he noticed me!_ ' was cut short when Peter's growl rang through his ears.

Stiles looked over to see eyes flash red, and he knew that was his cue to leave.

"Tell coach I twisted my ankle," Stiles told Danny hurriedly as he pretended to limp towards where Peter was stalking angrily away. As soon as they were out of sight, Stiles rushed and grabbed Peter's shoulder. "Stop- Peter stop!"

"I am going to rip him to shreds!" Peter growled, and Stiles actually whimpered. Full on whimpered.

"He just helped me up, it's not that big of a deal," Stiles explained quickly and Peter's gaze snapped to his, locking his eyes into Stiles' gaze.

"I can scent his attraction to you," Peter growled back and Stiles froze. _Attraction? Danny? To him! A month ago he would have been jumping for joy._

"Derek told me what I did," Stiles spoke quieter, but fast, his voice rushed, "I know about the bond between us and it scares the crap out of me, but I don't like Danny, not anymore. I ruined that for myself, didn't I?" He asked with a small chuckle, seeing Peter visibly relax.

The two of them made it all the way to the jeep before they spoke again.

"How is your control?" Peter asked as Stiles began to drive.

"Honestly? You're my trigger, but you're also my anchor. I don't think anything bad will happen as long as you stay calm," Stiles said truthfully, not a tick in his heartbeat to be heard.  He realized the intensity of his words a moment later.

 

_What had he done?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whelp....Idk what to say.


	3. 'Till My Heart Stops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter still hadn't said anything, seeing Stiles struggling with the shift. He wouldn't hear anything even if he had. All rational thoughts bled from his mind when Stiles' glowing yellow eyes met his in almost a desperate plea for help as he struggled to stop from losing control. 
> 
> Stiles grabbed onto Peter's shoulders and smashed their lips together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THERE ARE NO ITALICS BECAUSE MY WORD PROGRAM KEPT FORMATTING WEIRD SO I HAD TO USE HTML FORMATTING ON ARCHIVE *SIGH*
> 
> Warning: Some underage issues, not much. Not smut, because sorry, Stiles is sixteen and it just didn't fit in with the plot

My love, my love  
Where've you gone?  
I turned around and now I'm alone  
Will I ever understand it?  
Will I make it to the other side?  
I almost died  
The day I lost you  
I'll keep breathing  
‘Till my heart stops

The power was itching beneath Stiles' skin as he watched Peter enter his room a pace before him. They hadn't said a word since what Stiles had blurted out during their car ride. I told Peter he was my anchor, what was I thinking? That'd he'd be happy and that we would live happily ever after. We're werewolves and I probably just broke the biggest unspoken rule ever.

"Look Peter," Stiles began slowly, "I'm sorry-" lie, "I don't know what I was saying-" lie, "it's not...it's not..." Stiles trailed but he knew he was failing. His heart was beating like a jackhammer in his chest; roaring in his ears. 

"Stop Stiles. Stop trying to apologize," Peter sighed finally, emphasis on trying. He could tell everything Stiles said was complete bullshit. "And stop looking at me like that!"

"Looking at you like what?" Stiles asked.

"Like a kicked puppy," Peter grumbled back, turning his back towards the window.

He wasn’t answered with a snarky remark or comment though, but a growl. A low, throat-rumbling growl. He turned to see Stiles fully shifted and his eyes glowing gold. 

"Do I look like a puppy to you?" He asked, but he knew Peter heard the falter in his voice. He was struggling to keep control, it was obvious. His hands were shaking and his heartbeat had sped up noticeably faster. He could feel the beads of sweat collecting on his forehead, making his whole body feel hot with the raw power coursing through his veins.

He wanted to hunt; to smash through his window and take down the first thing he sees with legs. He wants to feel his claws rip into flesh and feel the warm blood-

"Stiles!" Peter's snarl broke him from his thoughts and he panted as he came down from the delirium. It was then he realized Peter had him pinned to the wall and he had been struggling vainly. He could feel bruises already healing on his body.

When Peter released his wrists, he fell to the ground, a shaking mess. The urge to rip something to shreds was strong.

"I'd take you on a hunt to help the blood lust, but the police are patrolling the preserve and the last thing I believe the sheriff would like to see would be his werewolf son running around and tearing into Bambi," Peter scoffed, and Stiles was glad that he had enough humanity left in him to shiver in disgust at the thought. Of course his wolf cried in disappointment, but he tried to block it out.

Stiles stared intently into Peter's blue human eyes before speaking again, "You said you were healing...will the pain go away too?" Stiles changed the subject as he pulled himself to his feet. Peter looked at him for a moment before lifting his shirt, revealing slowly healing scars. The progress was now almost down to his waistline.

The healed skin felt different under Stiles' palm. The roughness was gone, leaving behind smooth pale skin. He didn't even realize what he was doing until Peter shivered under the touch of his cool hands.

"Oh- sorry-" Stiles said, going to pull away, but Peter grabbed both of his wrists.

"No, it's okay. You...shifted back," Peter said, and Stiles looked down to see clawless hands.

Stiles opened his mouth to apologize again, but Peter cut him off again.

"Stop looking at me like that," he said, but there was less roughness in his tones

"Like a kicked puppy, I know-"

"Like I mean something to you," Peter interrupted and Stiles stopped mid-sentence, "You killed against your will, and now you're stuck with me. I don't mean anything to you, it's just your wolf speaking," he snapped, dropping his hold on Stiles' wrists.

"My wolf is part of me, and if you mean something to my wolf, you mean something to me," Stiles said quickly, barely recognizing the words that came out his mouth. He's manipulating you. No, he's you're alpha, he would never do that. He killed all those people. He did it for you and his family. He's manipulating you. He turned you. No! 

Stiles shut off his arguing thoughts, trying to lock them all away. The full moon made his mind go crazy each time he lost himself to thought, and he didn't want to shift again. The wolf was crawling beneath his skin, crying out to be released, digging at the little bit of control he still had.

Peter still hadn't said anything, seeing Stiles struggling with the shift. He wouldn't hear anything even if he had. All rational thoughts bled from his mind when Stiles' glowing yellow eyes met his in almost a desperate plea for help as he struggled to stop from losing control. 

Stiles grabbed onto Peter's shoulders and smashed their lips together.

Peter should have pushed the boy back and growled, telling him never do it again. He should have yelled at him until he gained control. 

But that's not what he did.

He kissed the boy back, his hand coming to grip Stiles back, their lips moving together with fierce fervor. Stiles growled, and Peter felt the force of his fangs tugging at his own gums. Stiles pressed into him, hands roaming over Peter’s coarse skin, drawing a shiver from the older man who hadn’t experienced suck sensations in years. Their skin was hot and their eyes were glowing in the dark, red eyes meeting yellow.

Stiles pulled away tentatively after a few moments, but Peter's grip remained on his wrists.

"You really shouldn't have done that," Peter whispered, his eyes flashing back and his claws he hadn’t noticed had made an appearance, retracting, the tips just brushing the smooth skin of Stiles' wrists.

He could smell the scent of fear masked underneath a strong waft of lust, pungent from the boy.

"It's just the moon affecting you," Peter began to explain, but Stiles snapped at him.

"So? Last I knew you were my alpha, not my father, you don't get to decide this for me," Stiles answered, "And if I'm not mistaken, you're not exactly unwillingly," Stiles stepped closer, "Even an alpha has to lose control sometimes," he drawled, his own finger tracing Peter’s clothed side, making his wolf whimper with a need he was sure he had never felt before.

"Fuck it," Peter growled, feeling the tug of the full moon buzzing under his skin, all of that power and want begging to be released. 

He crashed back into Stiles in a hungry kiss, his hands making quick work of exploring the boy's lean body, fingers brushing very far from delicately over the smooth skin. Stiles groaned, his hands coming to clutch the back of Peter's head, and Peter could feel the tips of his fangs pressing to his lips. He was losing himself, yet he seemed completely in control.

"Ugh, Peter, why didn't we do this sooner?" Stiles ground out, grinding their bodies closer together.

"Because you're moon drunk and probably going to regret this," Peter answered, but that didn't stop him from pulling Stiles' shirt over his head, followed by his own before smashing their lips back together. Stiles made quick work of the newly exposed skin, hands roaming down to Peter’s waistline, tracing over scars and rough skin, as well as the pale expanse of Peter’s stomach, trying to find purchase in every way possible.

Suddenly, Stiles stiffened against him, and he froze.

"My father! My father is home," Stiles said, and Peter froze, realizing he hasn't heard the engine come to a halt outside, and the front door slam. "Why is he home? I thought he had the night shift!" Stiles began to panic, his golden eyes meeting Peter's frantically. He quickly pulled his shirt back over his head and ran a hand over his hair (not that there was any to fix). He looked like he was trying to force his shift, but it wasn't working. He had gone back and forward so many times tonight, yet, when he really needed to, he couldn't.

Figuring it was worth a shot, Peter grabbed the back of his head and pulled their lips back together for one last hard kiss, pulling back and smiling when a completely human Stiles was staring back at him.

"I'll talk to you later, if you feel like you're losing control, call me," Peter said as he hurriedly grabbed his shirt and opened Stiles window, climbing out and closing it right as Stiles' father walked through his bedroom door.

"I got take out," the sheriff said, holding up a bag Stiles could tell was Chinese food.

"What did I say about the amount of salt you should be consuming?" Stiles said with a playful smile, but didn't push it any further.

~*~

Stiles was awakened by a dull ache in his side, his entire body warm.

His eyes shot open, and he immediately realized that he was no longer in his room. Last he had remembered, he had fallen asleep in his bed after a nice dinner with his father. He had missed their time together, and his father had been so busy with all of the murders that a lot of it had been taken up with that.

He tried to struggled, but found that his wrists were bound with cold metal. His entire body lurched forward with panic as he fought against his restraints.

"They're laced with mountain ash, we can't break them," a familiar voice graveled out from beside him, and his head snapped to the side to see Derek in a similar predicament. 

"Wh-where are we?" Stiles asked panicked his voice raspy and high pitched with fear. Where is Peter? His mind wondered frantically, but he pushed it away to focus on the dire situation at hand, ignoring his instincts.

He looked down and felt the contents of his stomach lurch at the sight of his pale torso. Wires were dug beneath his skin, leading away into the dark depths of the room. It smelled harshly of metal, blood, and fear. Stiles began to shake, fear settling deep in his mind. He was doing to die here.

"Calm down, your fear reeks," Derek but out, and Stiles didn't have time to retort that Derek's scent was similar before he spoke again, "You've been out for a while."

"Where are we?" Stiles asked again, his voice raising an octave.

"The basement. Of the Hale house. Kate, she..." Derek trailed off, and Stiles glanced over at him. His situation was similar except he had dried blood coating around the wound and dripping from his mouth. His eyes shine a brilliant blue, lighting up in the dark, and if it weren't for the scent of panic rolling off him too, Stiles would have assumed he was fearless.

Stiles went silent, focusing on the steady rhythm of his heart to calm himself down. He was so trans-fixed, he barely noticed the approaching footsteps. One of the people walked with certainty, and it reminded Stile sound of Lydia Martin's heals clicking down the halls, while the other was tentative, walking slower as if they were examining their surroundings. As if they were unsure.

As the door slid open, two silhouettes met his eyes. Kate. He recognized her immediately by her sickeningly sweet scent, laced with strong perfume and the tint of wolfsbane bullet powder. But the other scent was calm, one that had never threatened Stiles before. Allison.

"Stiles?" Her voice bit through the silence, and he looked up. He and Allison knew each other, but not very well. He met her brown eyes with an almost guilty gaze. "Kate, why do you have him strapped up like this, oh my god!" She exclaimed, rushing towards him, but Kate's strong hand stopped her.

"They're monsters Allison," Kate said smoothly, ignoring her niece’s horrified gaze as she walked forward, grabbing a hold of a knob attached some makeshift machine built onto a battery and turning it almost the full way.

Searing hot pain spread through his body and he let out a howl of pain, reeling against the chains with all his might, drawing blood on his wrists, cutting deep wounds that would heal in no time. The shock was gone as soon as it had arrived, and left Stiles panting, his fangs digging into his lower lip.

Allison was afraid.

She was afraid of him. Not her crazy aunt, not Derek, him. He could smell it on her, and see it in her warm brown eyes, which had gone wide with shock.

"He's killed before Allison, who's not to say Scott isn't next?" Kate said, her fingers dancing over the knob as if she could hear Stiles heart pound faster when her hand got near it.

Alison's mouth fell open and tears welled in her eyes.

"I would never-" Stiles panted.

"What happens when you lose control though baby," Kate drawled, turning the knob just the slightest so electricity coursed through his body, not as strong as before, but still painful. He fought again almost blindly in white pain, his ears barely registering Derek's groan of pain.

"Stop!" Alison's scream broke the trance Stiles was in and the electricity shut off again and Stiles went limp against his restraints, head lolling. "I need to warn Scott..." she said quietly, and Stiles whimpered because no. Scott couldn't know what he had spent so hard trying to hide from him. She rushed out of the room in a panic and Kate followed her closely, sending one last triumphant glance back in their direction, following her niece who was now on a path to kill. His entire body sagged in defeat.

He was going to die and his father was never going to find his body. His best friend's girlfriend's psychotic family was going to kill him, and Scott was going to find out what a monster he had become. 

~*~

Peter could feel the harsh tug at the bond course through his body, his mind screaming for him to help the beta despite not being able to find him. 

Stiles was in pain.

And Peter was going (even more) crazy trying to figure out what had happened to his only beta.

So imagine the Sheriff's surprise when a missing person who was supposed to be covered in scars entered his house searching for his son.

"You're Peter Hale," the Sheriff said, not a whisper of question in his voice. The man had seen the pictures when the fire had first occurred, and pictures given to the station from the hospital. But he couldn't help but remember what the nurse had said; "Your son came to visit Peter a few times before he disappeared."

And now, Peter Hale was standing in his doorway with his arms crossed and a hard look on his face.

"Have you seen Stiles?" The man asked, wincing as if in pain, yet he seemed unscathed. The man looked as if he were trying to look behind him, raising his nose to the air.

“Yeah, he’s in his room-” the Sheriff began, but was cut off when a strong arm shoved him to the side, ripping all the air out of his lungs. He gasped in pain, his hands instantly going to where his holster should have been, but then realizing he had taken it off when they had eaten dinner. “Stop right there! You are trespassing, my son will have nothing to do with you,” he shouted in the voice he usually used on supposed criminals and ratty teens, but it seemed almost inefficient as he chased the very strong, and very not-injured man through his house up to his sons room.

Peter shoved the door open, and just as the Sherriff opened his mouth to object more, he noticed the empty bed, and the open window, the drapes blowing lazily in the wind.

Peter had crumpled to the ground, clutching his stomach and groaning in pain, and the Sherriff wondered how he had even gotten this far. “Where’s my son?” He demanded, going right for Peter, his hand coming around Peter’s neck as he pinned the man to the ground.

“I don’t know,” he ground out, “Or I would have went there instead,” he answered with a hiss, shoving the Sheriff away with a brute force that was almost unrealistic considering he had just been in what had looked like excruciating pain.

“Stop-“ the Sheriff demanded, but froze when blazing red eyes met his.

“I can feel his pain,” Peter growled, and the sheriff took a step back, his eyes widening. “Feel his anguish,” he added, and the Sheriff’s eyes darted to his hands, and there was definitely claws on them, and fangs were sprouting from his mouth.

“Who are you?” The Sheriff asked with a stuttering voice.

“The woman who killed my family has your son…” Peter growled, and then he was launching himself out the window.

John Stilinski knew he couldn’t rush into this if what Peter Hale had said was true, and if anything his wife had believed in was real.

So he opened up the old Hale Fire case, and began to read, thinking about what Claudia’s close friend, Talia Hale. What Claudia had known but never told him. Just what Peter Hale was, and what had killed his family, and what was hurting his son.

~*~

Peter sprinted much faster than humanly possible when he was finally figured it out. When he had finally figured out just what had happened to Stiles. When he had caught the scent of wolfsbane and the perfume Kate Argent always wore. The flowery scent that just didn’t match her personality, almost sickeningly sweet smelling and pungent to a werewolves nose. And she wore it because she knew that. She wasn’t afraid of being found, in fact, she wanted to be found.

Peter skidded on leaves, running on four legs now despite the exccrutiating pain radiating through his torso. It felt as though a knife was dragging against his skin slowly, cutting in all the right places to make him bleed. If he were human, surely Stiles would be dead by the amount of pain that had spread through Peter’s form. He howled into the night, the sound shaking the entire forest to its roots, every little animal that wasn’t already hiding was surely now. The power of the full moon coursed through his veins, and willing him to go faster.

He could smell Stiles scent. The scent of fear and pain, mixed with Derek’s, and the perfume. The flowery perfume. He could smell it among to blood and the burnt flesh and it made his insides burn with white hot rage. His remaining family was locked in that cellar, and all he could smell was that bitches perfume. He growled, going for the door and practically ripping it off its hinges, rushing through the dark cavern in an animalistic rage, barely having any control over himself.

When he reached the basement, it was empty. But he could hear the heartbeats.

They were above him now.

He had been so angry, he had missed it.

A gunshot rang through the silence of the night, and Peter flew out of the basement and back to the forest just in time to see Kate standing over Derek’s slumped figure. The strong scent of blood met his nose. Before he could reach her though, Kate had suddenly lost control of Stiles, and his arms were now wrapped around her neck, claws poised to rip out her throat.

“Kill her!” Peter roared, eyes meeting the limp form of his nephew who’s heart was stuttering in his chest, threatening to stop at any moment.

“Let her go! And step away, I’m armed,” another booming voice rang across the clearing, and Peter’s eyes looked over to meet Chris Argent’s, his gun raised and pointed at Stiles.

“Stiles! Kill her! Look what she has done to my family!” Peter cried out, feeling the sudden wave of uncertainty from Stiles.

“No! Please!” Allison’s voice now reached his ears. The smallest Argent, the one he had believed to have not even know about hunting. “Stiles please,” she begged, and now, he could see Scott McCall, Stiles best friend, standing at her side, holding a vial of something in each hand, shocked at the scene before him as if he hadn’t believed it before.

Stiles could feel her soft flesh beneath his fingers. And he knew how easy it would have been to rip it open and end her pathetic life. He wanted to so bad, but there was a piece of humanity that he was clinging to that stopped him.

“Son…” a voice said quietly from behind Stiles, and he turned to see now his father was standing there, but unlike the Argents, his weapon was not raised. He looked at Stiles with sad eyes, not scared of his werewolf son. That was all it took for him to release Kate, his arms slipping away.

What happened next seemed to be in slow motion.

Just as he released her, Kate turned on him, a dagger he had not seen before plunging straight into his stomach. He groaned, staggering back, white hot pain flashing through his body. Peter roared from where he was, feeling the same pain as well as anger, rushing forward to Stiles. But he didn’t stop at Stiles body, instead rushing to an unready Kate and practically ripping her head from her shoulders, each crack of her bones satisfying as he quickly tore at her body. Her warm blood splattered across his face and arms, and filled his mouth with a satisfying coppery taste.

“Peter no!” Stiles cried out through the pain, reaching at Peter from where he was wrapped in his father’s arms.

Peter moved to take a step towards him, but turned as he heard something to be launched through the air at him. He caught it quickly, looking down to see the vial Scott had been holding in his grip. Before his gaze could go back up again, Allison’s arrow he pierced the glass, causing the liquid to splatter across his skin in a fiery pain. Literally. The pain was familiar, and he howled in rage, fighting to stop it. He felt another glass vial break against his skin, and through the pain was able to get one last glance at Stiles.

The boy was wreathing on the ground, screaming in pain, reaching for Peter, his father holding him back, in horror at his son’s actions.

“Peter! No! Stop!” He screamed, feeling the phantom fire burn across his skin. Feeling the heating of his flesh. How cruel would it be to kill Peter in the very way his entire family had been killed.

Derek had finally risen from where he had been lying to take his fighting uncle to the ground.

The next few seconds Stiles had replayed in his mind many times.

He had ripped away from his father and ran full speed at the charred body of his alpha, but not reaching him before Derek’s claws had ripped through his throat. “Do it.” He was sure he had heard Peter whisper, but it was a blur of pain and rage as he fell beside his alpha, throwing his head back in a mourning howl, eyes flashing blue at the night sky.

My hands are cold  
My body’s numb  
I’m still in shock  
What have you done?

“Peter…no,” he whispered, crawling up alongside the body, ignoring Derek staring at him with a set of red eyes that didn’t belong to him. “No please,” he whimpered, feeling this empty void inside of him, aching like a sore wound. His shaky hands reached out to touch Peter’s bloodied skin and he winced at the feeling. All of Peter hair had burned away, and his eyes almost looked at if they were lifelessly bulging out of his skull. Stiles’ stomach turned at the sight, and he felt a sob rip through his entire body as he fell forward, ignoring the blood covering him. “I love you, you can’t leave me like this,” Stiles whimpered.

My head is pounding  
My visions blurred  
Your mouth is moving  
I don’t hear a word

He could sense everyone’s presence around him, but he remained unmoving, curled against Peter’s remains like his life depended on it. He had lost his pack, and it felt as if someone had cut his heart out of his chest.

And it hurt so bad  
That I search my skin  
For the entry point  
Where love went in

The smell of burnt skin was overwhelming off Peter, but he could still find the former alpha’s scent underneath it all. He clung to Peter’s torn shirt and to that scent that filled his nose as he depsperately tried to feel again.

And ricocheted  
And bounced around   
And left a hole  
When you walked out

The tears finally came out all at once, and he was sobbing. Someone was trying to pull him away and he growled as slashed his claws at them, his blue eyes cutting through the night. Without Peter, he was nothing a useless omega who had murdered someone.

I’m falling through the doors  
Of the emergency room  
Can anybody help me  
With these exit wounds?

~*~

Stiles woke up in a room that smelled sterile, nothing more than his own scent and that of soap. His head was pounding, and he stared dizzily at the ceiling.

Before he even registered where he was, and what had happened, he could already feel the void, tugging at his heart, making his entire chest ache. He began to cry again, feeling pathetic. He was lying face up in a hospital bed.

Peter was gone.

He didn’t know why, but the thought made his entire body spasm and a sob ripped through his mouth, molding into a longing howl. The sound ripped through the silence of the hospital room, and suddenly people were rushing in.

He recognized his father, and the pungent scent of Chris Argent. He smelled like Peter’s blood.

Stiles growled, slashing out with his claws, trying to find the closest warm body.

“I told you we should have tied him up!” He vaguely heard Chris say, but he couldn’t stop. He was ready to rip into his father when another growl sounded and he felt his body go rigid, and he stopped, staring at the source with wide, tear filled eyes.

“Stiles, control yourself,” Derek growled, but his voice did not come off as harsh.

It wasn’t until later, when they had left Stiles alone with Derek that he finally spoke.

“Does it always feel like this. So…empty?” He whimpered.

Derek looked at him with sympathetic eyes.

“Yes,” he answered, “And it never goes away.”

Little did he know, one day Peter would return to Stiles, closely followed by Kate herself, but that, is a story for another day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to go dig myself a hole and lay in it.
> 
> I am sad now.

**Author's Note:**

> I HAVE A SOFT SPOT FOR PETER HALE


End file.
